


I Solemnly Swear That I Am Up To No Good

by aoutrance



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble Collection, Dreamsharing, F/M, Gen, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-07 03:24:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4247496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aoutrance/pseuds/aoutrance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short little pieces in response to prompts and challenges.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione almost fell to the floor when she stumbled into a squishy piece of furniture as she wandered into the kitchen for a cup of tea, busy reading the new article about future travel. After catching her balance she looked down and oh-

_That's not furniture._

She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stave off the inevitable headache. She was adjusting to life in this timeline, where she had been blown backwards during an experiment in the Department of Mysteries. It was just her luck that she had been screwed over by the Time Turners, the little devices that had made her third year at Hogwarts so memorable.

Hermione was not pleased with the way women were treated in the fifties, either in Muggle world or in the Wizarding one, which had been both behind and ahead of the times in various ways. She had struggled to make her way as an adult with no real background, doing her best not to disrupt the timeline in any meaningful way. She had read far too many science-fiction novels when she was a child.

Now that she was a respected researcher in the very same Department that had sent her back, Hermione felt like she was gaining a sense of equilibrium. She desperately missed her friends, but she had made some new ones, more or less voluntarily. If only she could get rid of this one troublesome problem, Hermione could get back to the journal article that had caught her eye. It was a promising venture that may be her ticket out of there.

She threw some floo powder into her fireplace and waited impatiently for the handsome face to appear. He smiled charmingly at her and she scowled.

"You need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen."

His eyebrows pinched together in a moue of confusion. "But darling, didn't you mention that he was holding you back from promotion? I couldn't let that slide."

Hermione held onto her temper with what she thought was a remarkable fortitude. "Do not call me that. You can't just murder people, Tom."

His full mouth slanted into a grin and he nearly purred at her. "I think you'll find that I  _can_ do just that."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "If I go on a date with you, will you stop with the creepy courting gifts?  _Please_?"

His eyes were took in her defeated form with a gentle mirth that had consistently agitated her since the day they were introduced by a well-meaning colleague. "Only if you promise to endeavor to enjoy yourself. I'll not have a sulking dinner companion."

"Fine." Hermione waved a hand toward the body in her house. "Now get rid of that. I'm not about to get arrested by the Aurors because you have no concept of what's appropriate."

He stepped through the hearth and bowed to her with a flourish, kissing her hand with a smile. "Anything for you, my dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt for this one was "you need to stop leaving dead bodies in my kitchen". i am just obsessed with time travel, apparently.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a sentence/phrase prompt, but one written because while i personally do not believe in soulmates, i find the idea absolutely fascinating.

" _FAMOUS WAR HEROINE'S SOULMARK REVEALED! See the exclusive photos on page 3."_

Hermione groaned and dropped her head into her hands and then just gave up and let her upper body fall onto the tabletop in defeat. She mumbled into the scratched wood surface. "I wish I could say that I can't believe this happened, but then I remember my entire Hogwarts career."

Ginny patted her arm comfortingly. "Cheer up, Hermione. At least it didn't make the front page?"

Hermione flapped an arm at Ginny uselessly, not moving from her position of utter mortification. "That's because the front page has an entire article about how devastated all my various lovers are that they are not my one and only heart's desire." Ginny leaned close to hear her last muttered statement. "I knew I should have kept her in that jar."

"How did this even happen?"

Hermione sighed and lifted her head, propping it on one hand while she pinched the bridge of her nose with the other. "Teddy. His accidental magic seems very dedicated to vanishing things. Like my robes while we're at Fortescues's, for example. Just lucky I was wearing something underneath that day."

Ginny pressed her lips together tightly and did her best to school her expression, but Hermione wasn't fooled. She rolled her eyes tiredly. "Go ahead and laugh, Gin. Everyone else has."

Failing badly at stifling her giggles, Ginny said, "Everyone?"

"Your husband,  _all_  your brothers, the patrons of the ice cream shop, even Luna sent me an owl! I couldn't actually make out what the message was, but I'm sure she was laughing while she wrote it."

"Don't you think you're overreacting just a bit?" Ginny flipped open the  _Daily Prophet_  and smoothed out the pages. "It's not even a bad photo, even if the clothes are a little sparse."

Hermione waved her wand sharply and Ginny reared back as hundreds of letters appeared on the table, overflowing the surface and landing haphazardly on the floor. "These are all  _responses_  I have received from this revelation. Everything from soulmate claims to scathing diatribes on my appalling lack of propriety."

"Merlin," Ginny breathed, eyes wide. "It's not even lunchtime yet."

With another flick of Hermione's wand, the letters were set on fire and then promptly banished. Her eyes narrowed at the slight scorch mark the blue flames had left. "I will end that woman. One way or another."

Before Ginny could reply (or edge away from her clearly distraught, clearly deranged friend), there was a knock on the door. She jumped up to answer, hoping whoever it was would distract Hermione from homicidal thoughts. Swinging the door open, she blinked at a vaguely familiar face, who blinked right back at her. "Er, hello? Can I help you?"

His dark blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled politely. "I hope so." He tugged the collar of his shirt down over his clavicle, exposing pale skin and the scattered constellation of star-like markings that directly matched the ones dotting Hermione's torso. "I was hoping you could help me find Ms. Granger."

Ginny grinned at him sharply and opened the door wider. "You've come at the right time, Mr …?"

He stepped across the threshold smoothly. "Theo Nott."

"Ah." Ginny racked her mind for the name and thought,  _bollocks_  when she finally placed it.

Theo watched the play of emotions she couldn't hide move across her face and sighed. With a quick movement, he drew his wand only to hand it to her handle first. "If it makes you feel more comfortable."

She scrutinized him for a long moment and then shook her head. "It's enough to know you offered." She smiled again, just as sharply as before. "Hermione's already here, I'll bring you in and let you talk."

He followed her to kitchen, where Hermione was once again face down on the countertop muttering curses to herself. Ginny figured this was as good of a second impression as they were going to get. "Hey, Hermione. We've got company."

Her friend just waved her wand and the words "HELLO" and "GO AWAY" hovered in the air. Ginny smirked, knowing Hermione had assumed it was Ron or Harry who was at the door.

Theo cleared his throat. "Do you greet all guests this politely?"

Hermione's head shot up from where it was cradled in her arms and she squinted at the tall man standing next to her friend. "… Nott, was it? What are you doing here?"

He sat down at Ginny's abandoned stool with graceful ease, though his legs trailed down to the floor. "A little bird told me that you and I have something in common."

Hermione huffed. "More like a little cockroach." He raised an eyebrow at her and she just shook her head. "Nevermind. Show me."

Theo looked back at Ginny and said, "Demanding, isn't she?"

She shrugged, more than content to lean against the wall and watch the show. "You have no idea."

Theo pulled the collar of his shirt down again and Hermione leaned in closely to look. He held his breath as she trailed a finger across the constellation, seemingly oblivious to his response. After a long moment she sat back and said, "Huh. So that's real." She frowned almost apologetically. "I don't believe in soulmates."

"Despite all the evidence to the contrary, you mean?" He was still reeling from the single touch of her hand while she looked remarkably unaffected.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "There has been a severe lack of scientific enquiry on this subject since the marks started appearing on infants a century ago. Most of it is romance novels and a lot of highly improbable films."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Theo watched her curls get crushed under her frantic hands as she wound her hair into a bun and shoved her wand through it violently, muttering to herself about 'ignorant purebloods' and 'useless segregation'.

"Muggle entertainment." She watched his face closely for a reaction and he was happy enough not to let his expression change. Satisfied, she relaxed against the table once more. "So I'm sorry, but I doubt we're meant to be."

Suddenly a plush toy came sailing over Theo's shoulder and hit Hermione in the face, much to her surprise. "Ginny!"

"Give the bloke a chance, huh? Can't be all bad." The redhead smiled winsomely at Theo. "Worst case scenario, shag him and leave forever."

Hermione looked thoughtful, scarily so. Theo just wondered when it was that he lost control of the situation. It was probably when he woke up this morning. "Ah, shouldn't that be something you don't discuss when the person in question is in the room?"

Ginny shrugged. "Honesty is the best policy. Gryffindors, you know."

"Yes." Hermione stood and he noted her lack of height absently, while staking out the possible exits from the apartment if things went south. "You'll do. I will seize this opportunity for scientific progress." She looked him up and down appreciatively. "And possibly orgasms."

Theo slid to his feet, feeling disconcertingly out of his depth. "… thank you?"

She patted him on the chest and his soulmark burned as if she were touching his skin directly. Despite his misgivings, he felt an overwhelming urge to be near her now that he knew for a fact that they were connected by magic, or fate or whatever it was the universe called these tattoos. Theo was mildly impressed that she didn't seemed strained whatsoever. "I wouldn't say that just yet."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> response to the prompt: "there's no problem that can't be solved with a gun." in which hermione becomes a badass hit wizard instead of veering toward the more cerebral parts of the dmle. it could totally happen.

"Expelliarmus!"

Surrounded by three wizards dressed in long dark robes and a poor imitation of Death Eater masks, Hermione was reminded of her great-uncle Eugene, or rather his own personal motto. He had turned making people uncomfortable into an art form and she had been slavishly enamored of his exquisite turn of phrase. He would tell her stories of the war, much to her mother's dismay, and they always ended the same way: "There's no problem that can't be solved with a gun, love."

Great-uncle Eugene had died when Hermione was just six years old, leaving a collection of antique pistols and his Distinguished Conduct Medal to her. She carried his words into the magical world and buried them under her books and her cleverness and her wand, an object that could be more powerful than any gun.

Hermione wiped the blood trickling down her face and stared down the nearest man, whose eyes widened behind the falsely grinning mask. Her hand twitched toward her robe pockets for the bag she never left home without, a wartime habit that had saved her life more than once in the field. The men kept her at wand point and looked at one another for guidance, shifting from foot to foot. She snorted, both at their incompetence and the fact that she had been disarmed by such idiots. Sheer dumb luck on their part.

"Well, if it isn't the famous Hermione Granger. Far from home, aren't you, little mudblood?"

She turned to look at the man who was approaching from the woods, maskless and sneering. "Mulciber. Your presence is, as always, a balm to the soul."

His face twisted into a snarl. "Bitch. You dare insult a pureblood wizard after what you've done?"

Hermione shrugged. "I'd say it gives me more reason to, actually." She shoved her hands into her pockets, affecting a casual stance in a twofold gesture to infuriate the men around her and root around for something useful. Hermione touched upon the cold metal of her inheritance. Slowly she curled her fingers around the Webley. Facing four armed opponents with no place to take cover meant that she would have to take the chance that they would prefer to capture her alive for unpleasant purposes rather than see her dead immediately.

Mulciber was pacing between her and the other men and she watched him carefully, waiting for him to turn, waiting for that split second when his eyes weren't on her. He pivoted on his heel and with a sharp cry, Hermione ripped the Webley from her pocket and threw herself at Mulciber, raising the heavy pistol toward his temple. She was on him in a flash, thumping him harshly on the head and rolling over with his unconscious body, using him as a shield from the reflexive spells his men had cast. As his considerable weight settled on her, the gun went off with a loud crack. It was a deafening thunder that rolled through her body and she felt, rather than heard, a crash as body hit the earth.

The pistol was heavy in her hand and she cursed the fact that she had never taken more than cursory look at the mechanics, had never fired a single shot before today. Hermione stood and dragged Mulciber's prone form up with one arm, straining and holding him at gun point. Only two of the pseudo-Death Eaters were standing now; the one who had disarmed her originally was on the ground, clutching his rapidly bleeding shoulder.

Hermione slowly moved the muzzle from Mulciber's head to point at the remaining two men. "Do you know what this is?"

For a long moment the only noise was the quiet whimpers of the man she had shot accidentally. "Mudblood weapon." They were looking more and more uncertain as their eyes darted from their erstwhile leader to their injured comrade.

She gestured with the gun, only feeling slightly bad about the way they flinched. "That's right. I could kill you both easily where you stand, before you could even cast a single thing. There's a reason we have the Statute and it's not to protect the  _Muggles_." Hermione tapped the muzzle to Mulciber's head none too gently. "I'd say it's in your best interest to give up."

They looked at one another nervously and the larger one nodded, holding out his hand and dropping his wand on the ground. After a long moment, the second man did the same thing with great reluctance. Hermione nudged them backwards with a sweep of the Webley and then dropped Mulciber on his face to snatch up the wands on the ground and retrieve her own from the man who was moaning pitifully off to her left. The relief she felt upon regaining her own wand was nearly tangible. She stupefied the surrendered men and waved her wand idly over the injured one, where he was swathed in white bandages; if they were a shade too tight, well, who was going to complain?

Hermione looked around the clearing for the one person she had actually expected to be there. "Come on out, Zabini. I've done all the work again."

After a moment her supposed partner sauntered through the bushes, looking more like he was talking a stroll through a catalog than apprehending dangerous criminals. "Now, now, Hermione. You know I hate getting my hands dirty." He took in the scene, Hermione standing over four unconscious and/or bleeding men and smirked. "Besides, I didn't want to ruin all your fun."

She rolled her eyes in fond exasperation. "You chose the wrong career path."

He looked up from where he was binding the two wizards to Mulciber with a practiced hand, weaving runes into their conjured manacles. "But darling, you know I look smashing in these robes."

Hermione looked down at her own crumpled robes, covered in dirt, blood and whatever dietrus was on the forest floor. "At least one of us does." She carefully tucked her great-uncle's pistol away and levitated the wounded man over to the rest of their prisoners. "You're doing all the paperwork for this one, Blaise. I've got a date."

"Not looking like  _that_ , I hope."

Hermione shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he'll be into the wild woman thing I've got going on here."

He snorted elegantly. "Charming."

She prepared to apparate to the Ministry holding cells with her prisoner and grinned at him. "Worst case scenario, I can just threaten him with antique muggle weaponry. Seems to work just fine on wizards these days."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the prompt for this one is the first sentence, which just screams tom riddle to me. uh, warning for a vague amount of gore?

"Murder is for the unimaginative."

Abraxas shifted on the bench next to Edmond and muttered, "Just when I thought he couldn't get creepier."

Tom graced him with a cool eyed glance. "Something you want to share, Malfoy?"

The blonde clenched his jaw and wondered what it was about this boy (no, they're men now, of age and worthy of the word by virtue of their deeds) that made his brain shudder and his spine crawl away in fear. "Nothing important."

"Good." He flashed Abraxas a charming smile, full of bright white teeth that distracted from the icy intensity of his dark eyes. "I do so hate being interrupted, after all."

Avery thrust a plate of scones in his general direction. "By all means, please continue."

He picked up a chocolate one with delicate fingers and places it on his napkin, systematically tearing it apart without looking. "I don't expect you to understand the beauty of the Dark Arts. Each one of you wields it without appreciation."

Tom nodded at Avery when he finally deigned to sample the scone he had chosen. It was an appreciative gesture, made for a servant who had exceeded low expectations, but it allowed Avery to relax minutely. He would take the crumbs if it meant living to the next morning.

They all kept their eyes on Tom while he held court, steadily ignoring the blood dripping from the ceiling onto the stone floor behind him. "Dark magic hungers. If you feed it well, it will pay you back tenfold in power." He closed his eyes as a small smile crept onto his face, looking far more peaceful than someone with viscera on the soles of their shoes had any right to be. "It is glorious."

Lazily, he waved his wand and the falling blood swirled in the air, arcing and circling the group. A twist of his wrist sent it splashing at Abraxas' face, who ducked reflexively. Tom clicked his tongue against his teeth in disapproval. "You see? No respect."

The second time the blood came whirling around, Abraxas allowed it to dot across his cheekbones with a resigned air, throat tight as he fought against the urge to vomit. The same happened to Edmond, Avery and Rosier, the last of whom was less circumspect at his own squeamishness.

Tom surveyed their bloody faces and sharply slashed his wand through the air, drawing it away from their faces and chests to gather at their forearms. There was a gurgle from above and Tom looked at the man dangling from his own entrails almost fondly. "You are doing wonderfully, darling. Just a moment more."

The man weakly thrashed about, only succeeding in pulling his intestine tighter against his own throat and spraying Tom's spotless oxford shirt with red.

With pursed lips, he lifted the blood out of the fabric and flicked it toward Rosier's arm, who blanched a further white than Abraxas had ever seen on a person still alive. "Let's get down to business, shall we? I'm sure we all have places we need to be." Tom stood gracefully and smoothed his hands down his immaculately pressed robes. "I will have your loyalty now."

He pressed his wand into his own forearm and the chamber rang with the sound of their screams.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry knew all about soulmates and how they share dreams. It was something Hermione had mentioned in passing early into their friendship, skeptical of the idea of a single person out there for everyone. Harry, on the other hand, had gathered his courage and marched up to Madame Pince to ask her for every book she had on the subject. There was someone out there who would care for him, just Harry! It was an indescribable feeling.

He read every book on soulmates between long sessions with Ron and Hermione trying to find the Philosopher's Stone, rescuing Ginny from the Chamber, finding and then losing his godfather to a life on the lam. After three years in the wizarding world, Harry had come to the horrifying conclusion that his soulmate was no longer among the living. The dreams always started when a witch or wizard turns eleven, it was a fact that was undisputed in every book he had ever read.

Harry was fourteen now and it had never happened to him. The closest he had ever gotten were nightmares brought on by his unusually dangerous life.

When he questioned his friends on their own dreams, Ron had hissed, "That's private, mate! People don't ask about them!"

Hermione wouldn't admit to having them, but she blushed when he asked. Harry took that as an answer all on its own.

He did his best to push the thought out of his mind, throwing himself into classwork after the Headmaster had decreed that Quidditch season was to be cancelled. It was easier not to think of how no one would ever want him like his soulmate would when he was filling his mind with something else entirely. Hermione was delighted with his studious behavior while Ron grumbled about having no one to play Exploding Snap with. Harry just buried himself in parchment and books, trying to ignore his aching heart.

"Harry Potter."

He looked up from his book on Arithmancy, something he dearly wished had chosen as an elective instead of Divination. The constant predictions of his death in all sorts of improbable ways was getting quite old. At least with Arithmancy, he could narrow it down to a few options.

The entire Great Hall was staring in his direction. Dumbledore was standing stiffly next to the Goblet. "Harry Potter! Harry! Up here, if you please!"

Slowly Harry closed his book and placed it under his arm, not understanding why he was being called, but obeying regardless. The short distance between the Gryffindor table and the Headmaster seemed impossibly long once he saw the slip of paper clutched in Dumbledore's wizened fingers. It couldn't be-

"Well … through the door, Harry."

It was. Harry cursed his rotten, awful luck. He had been hoping for a single school year where nothing life-threatening happened, hoping he could ignore his feelings and watch the tournament to see  _other_  people perform death-defying tricks. He wasn't even old enough!

He trudged down the stairs, lost in his gloomy thoughts, wondering if he could get Dumbledore to let him out of the tournament. Surely his age disqualified him? It wasn't until he nearly ran into someone in blue that he realized he had arrived at his destination. Fleur Delacour stepped backward swiftly, as if she were unwilling to even entertain the possibility of touching him.

"I  _said_ , do zey want us back in ze Hall?"

The pretty Beauxbatons girl was staring at him with something like haughty contempt mixed with confusion.

"Er, no." Harry sighed deeply, resigned to the fact that his life was completely out of his control. Perhaps Trelawney's prediction of death by body-snatchers was more likely that he thought. "Looks like I'm the fourth Champion."

With that, he walked past the three older students and sat down at the single chair by the fire, hunching over his knees. Maybe if he presented a small enough target, they would realize that he wouldn't be useful entertainment for the tournament. When the sound of loud arguments from the hallway reached them, Harry laughed weakly to himself. Like his luck was ever that good. The Boy-Who-Lived, in the famous Triwizard Tournament? The  _Daily Prophet_ would sell out in minutes.

Harry did his best to ignore the adults who came rushing into the room, their voices getting increasingly louder as Fleur and Viktor voiced their own opinions on the matter. He almost caught the (no doubt) insult that was said in the silky tones of his absolute  _favorite_  professor, but valiantly redoubled his effort to block his own hearing.

Harry was staring intently at the fire when Dumbledore came to stand beside him and refused to be put off. "Did you put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

With no small amount of annoyance, Harry said, "No, of course not."

There was a loud scoffing noise in the background. He ignored that too. "Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire for you?"

Harry raised his eyebrows incredulously. "That's an _option?_  Why wouldn't you try to prevent something like that?"

The enormous woman behind his chair very nearly growls at him. "Answer ze question, little boy!"

Harry sunk back into the cushions and closed his eyes wearily. "I didn't enter and I didn't ask anyone else to enter for me."

"'e is lying, of course!"

Harry was starting to get annoyed at being called a liar. It had happened far too often since he had started at Hogwarts, more than all his years at the Dursleys combined. "Why would I lie? I'm not even of age! Doesn't that mean I can't compete?" He looked pleadingly at Dumbledore, whose eyes weren't as friendly as he remembered.

A man Harry can't see from his chair says, "It's a binding magical contract. The Goblet's fire has gone out entirely. The tournament has begun."

Harry just groaned quietly and covered his head with his hands. Maybe if he died of sheer terror during the competition, he could finally meet his soulmate, who hopefully wouldn't laugh at his sorry state. It was something to look forward to, at least.

* * *

_Harry was in an old building, with peeling paint on the walls. He looked around curiously, wondering how in the world he gotten here. Wasn't he just in the Common Room?_

_There was a little boy, about five years old, in the corner of the room clutching a pillow and staring at the wall determinedly. Harry thought he was a cute little bugger, though the tear tracks down his face made Harry unbearably sad. Harry moved closer and the boy stiffened at the sound of his shoes scuffing against the floor. The boy mumbled, "I won't apologize. I didn't do anything wrong!"_

_Harry crouched down next to boy who hadn't bothered to look at the person approaching him. "I believe you."_

_The boy started and stared up at him with luminous dark eyes wet with tears. "You're not Mrs. Cole."_

_Harry smiled at him. "I certainly hope not! I don't think I could pass as a married lady."_

_The boy clutched his pillow tighter and hid his face in it. "I don't know. You're pretty enough."_

Harry woke up laughing in his own bed, which nearly turned into a panic attack complete with hyperventilation when he realized what his dream could mean. Was his soulmate still a child? Is that why he hadn't dreamshared until now? What had triggered it? The building they had both been in looked very run down, not at all a place for a little boy. Harry was worried for his safety, but he couldn't help the spreading grin on his face.

He threw himself back onto the pillows, giddy in a way he hadn't been since he realized there was a person out there made exclusively for him, for plain ol' Harry Potter. He existed, despite Harry's worst fears! Harry could wait as long as it took, now that he had something to hold onto. He hoped that whatever had happened to the boy to make him cry was gone now.

"Er, Harry? You all right there?"

Neville's questioning voice barely broke through the barrier of the heavy curtains. "Yeah, fine, Neville."

A quiet cough. "Ah, good. You were just, you know, laughing. Maniacally."

He rubbed a hand down his face and grimaced. "Sorry. It's probably the stress getting to me."

Even though he was ecstatically happy, Harry now had two enormous things to worry about: the contracted mess he was involved in and finding out the identity of his soulmate. First things first, though. He needed to somehow figure out how to fight dragons.

His stomach grumbled loudly and he amended his thoughts. Breakfast and  _then_  dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt was soulmates & dreamsharing. i think i've read too much tom/harry lately, it's corrupting my brain. harry just wants someone to love him, you know?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt for this one: “Honey, I’m home!” [she] heard her husband call out from downstairs as she quickly threw the [man's] clothes at him and signaled to the window. 
> 
> idk, this is barely even a thought and i hate infidelity fics.

Wrapped in a nest of blankets, Theo nuzzled the smooth skin of Hermione’s neck, hoping she would eventually wake and join him in the shower. She smiled sleepily at him, but the expression froze on her face when she heard the front door slam.

“Honey, I’m home!” he heard her husband call out from downstairs as she quickly threw his clothes at him and signaled to the window. Theo dressed hurriedly, his dark blue eyes watching her hungrily as she flit around the bedroom.

“He was supposed to be in Romania for another week!” she hissed to herself, groping under the bed blindly for her missing panties. She gave them up for lost and looked at Theo, who was perched on the windowsill. “What are you still doing here? Go!”

He hesitated for a moment and then strode forward to pull her into a bruising kiss, smoothing a possessive hand down her back. “Send me an owl the next time you get lonely, love.”

She licked her lips, breathing heavily before she pushed him away. “I’ll keep you in mind.” There were heavy footsteps on the stairs and she pointed outside. “Now go! The anti-apparition wards end at the tree in the backyard.”

Theo saluted her and slid out the window, knowing better to hope and hating himself for doing it anyway.

Weeks and weeks later, a pygmy owl dropped a note onto his lap as he steadily drank his way through the Chilean cabernet he had purchased to share with her, certain now that he had just been a phase in her life.

_I think I’m going to be pretty lonely for the rest of my life. Want to join me?_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt for this one from [here](http://suddenlyprompts.tumblr.com/post/86077101750/the-mud-was-cold-but-the-glint-of-gold-drew-him): “The mud was cold, but the glint of gold drew him on, and he barely felt the scratches on his rag-wrapped hands.”
> 
> don’t mind me, i’m just obsessed with dark!harry who joins voldemort.

The mud was cold, but the glint of gold drew him on, and he barely felt the scratches on his rag-wrapped hands.

 _Seriously_ , he thought, _what the hell possessed Tom to bury his ring in the goddamn dirt?_

Harry knew the grove was hallowed, that no magic could be used to retrieve anything placed in it and it took a parselmouth to even get _into_ the grove … but the fact of the matter was that he had been digging for _hours_ and his back ached and he was going to _murder_ Tom when he returned to the manor.

“Tch.” He rubbed his face ineffectually against his arm, only succeeding in dirtying both of them more. If he had known that joining up with the Dark Lord meant playing around in the dirt, he might have just stayed and suffered through Dumbledore’s twinkle-eyed machinations.

He grabbed the filthy ring and shoved it into his filthy pocket, groaning piteously as he stood for the first and stretched out his muscles. “Well,” he said, “That job’s done.”

Harry drew his wand and focused on the Dark Lord’s personal location, allowing their link to guide him in apparation. He grinned when he realized that he had just interrupted a Death Eater meeting while entirely coated with dirt and the blood of the centaur who had offered himself up as a sacrifice to the blood-thirsty grove. Apparently it was an honor to become one with these particular trees and Harry wasn’t the type of person to look a gift horse (hah!) in the mouth.

He could feel eyes on his back and heard an annoyed hiss, which he assumed was Bellatrix letting her jealousy get the best of her once more. Harry ignored it all and focused on the hooded face of Tom in his Voldemort guise, who didn’t seem at all surprised by his sudden appearance. “It has been recovered, _my lord_.” No one but the man in front of him could see how Harry smirked at the title.

Tom waved him away as if he were an errant house-elf, but Harry didn’t miss the narrowing of his gleaming red eyes. “Wait in the study.”

Harry bowed as sarcastically as he could manage. “Of course.” He meandered out of the main hall, winking at the Death Eater he assumed was Barty, who didn’t react. Ah, well.

When he opened the door to the study, he looked at the finely upholstered furniture and then back down to his dirty clothing. He _could_ cast a cleaning charm on himself, but he desperately wanted a real shower and the loveseat’s pattern was hideous anyway. He threw himself down onto its cushions and settled in for a long wait. Those meetings were so hideously boring …


End file.
